


If the Present Is Killed

by TheLibranIniquity



Series: The Anatomy Of Grief [4]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Alternate Timelines, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLibranIniquity/pseuds/TheLibranIniquity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There's a Victorian woman being debriefed in the ARC and a Romanov-era potential psychopath on the loose in modern day London. As far as Stephen's concerned stranger things have happened (like Jenny).</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's a dark and stormy night. Wind whips through the undergrowth and heavy rainfall dulls all but the sharpest senses. Even so it's impossible to miss the sight of a strange creature moving slowly on the ground. A lone human woman struggles to make a path. Her clothes are dirtied and worn through, and short brown hair is plastered around her head. One arm is cradled against her chest and the other waves about, ineffectually trying to shield both her face and her injury from the elements.

Any sound she makes is swallowed by the storm, but she knows she's being watched – even if predators can't smell the dried blood on her arm she's still an eyesore.

She can't afford to slow down any more.

Her uninjured arm catches in a tangle of vines. She swears, just loud enough to be heard over the wind, and attempts to pull herself free. When that fails she carefully reaches around with her other arm, pulls a knife out of her pocket and begins to hack away at the vines. She frees herself but the pain in her arm is growing unbearable and she's breathing heavily.

She looks around, trying to find a place to shelter for a few hours. Instead she finds shards of light hanging in the air at the base of a nearby tree.

An anomaly. She thinks if she had enough energy, she might cry.

She stumbles towards it, one painful, uneven step at a time.

Finally she passes through.

Then, she passes out.

o o o o o

There's a Victorian woman being debriefed in the ARC and a Romanov-era potential psychopath on the loose in modern day London. As far as Stephen's concerned stranger things have happened (like Jenny). Hilary, on the other hand, has taken the revelation that his team leader has been hiding a person from everyone else as a personal affront.

And he won't stop pacing. Hilary's living room is roughly the size of a postage stamp, but Stephen still feels dizzy tracking him.

“Come on,” he tries again. “Don't -”

Hilary stops mid-stride, shifts to his uninjured leg, and glares at him. “Don't what? Be angry that someone I've worked with for months kept something like this hidden from me – from all of us? That -”

“So you don't trust Matt.”

“What? No. Of course I trust him.”

“So you do trust him. Just not his judgement.”

Hilary's eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”

“I'm not sure,” Stephen admits. This kind of fuzzy logic used to work with Nick, but that's not something he needs to think about now. He shrugs. “Devil's advocate, maybe. Supportive boyfriend?”

“I – how is this supportive?”

Stephen shrugs again. “Hence the question mark. Look,” he adds, and pats the sofa beside him. “Sit down, at least.”

Hilary does, deliberately leaving a couple of inches between the two of them. “I don't like being the last to know,” he says quietly.

“I know.” Stephen stares at a battered paperback on the coffee table for a few moments. “H-”

“You keep doing that,” Hilary points out. “Hesitating. You were going to call me – that – weren't you.”

It's not a question, but Stephen huffs anyway. “It's your name.”

“Not the one I use,” Hilary retorts. Then: “Why?”

Stephen chooses his words carefully. “In the Pliocene, then in the future. I needed something to hold on to.”

Hilary doesn't look convinced. “And you picked the name my mother, in a fit of sadism, gave me. You had a team back here, trying to find you. Danny, Jenny – Sarah. Even Connor and Abby.”

Stephen snorts. “Abby blamed me for Nick's death – all of them. Connor spent too much time mooning over Abby or obsessing over the artefact. Danny was strictly professional, and Sarah sided with Jenny – who I called Claudia, as you may recall.”

Hilary smirks, but it quickly fades. “And me?”

Stephen hesitates. He thinks, _You introduced me to your parents and left me alone with your brother_ and _protecting me from Christine Johnson_ and even _reassuring me and letting me hold you after I thought the future predators had killed you_ and that last, desperate kiss in front of the rest of the team before Stephen had taken Connor and Abby through the racetrack anomaly to find Helen.

How he'd spent a year using precious idle moments to replay every interaction, every look and touch, the ones that he'd taken and the few that had been offered, until Becker had become Hilary and Stephen had forgotten how to think of him any other way.

But he can't remember how to put any of that into words. “You,” he says quietly, with as much expression and intent as he knows. 

He thinks Hilary understands though, because he reaches out, slowly at first so Stephen can see, and takes one of Stephen's hands and turns it over and rubs a calloused thumb against Stephen's palm.

Stephen shivers, closes his eyes and breathes.

o o o o o

The next morning Stephen reads Lady Emily Merchant's debrief transcript over Jess' shoulder while she pretends he isn't doing precisely that.

“I've read your file, you know,” she says, focused on another computer screen.

Stephen blinks. He's not sure what he's supposed to say to that.

“I mean, I read it when I first joined the ARC – you know, a way of seeing what and who had come before, but I read it properly the day after you came back.”

“And you're bringing this up now because...”

Jess twists around so she's staring Stephen directly in the eye. “I like Becker,” she says with too much conviction. “I – as a friend, I mean. And I...”

Stephen waits.

“I wanted to make sure you weren't the type of person who'd take advantage of him.”

Months of solitude mean Stephen doesn't have to try hard to stay expressionless. “I am,” he admits. “But I would never intentionally hurt him.”

Jess stares at him some more, then relaxes and smiles. “Good,” she pronounces. 

“Is that it?” Stephen asks.

Jess considers this for a moment. “Well, I had been wondering – just how different is your time line – your original one, I mean – to this one?”

“Different enough.”

“Claudia Brown.”

Stephen nods. “Among other things.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Lester moving around his office and turns back to Jess. “There was one other... significant difference, though,” he says.

Jess follows his glance to Lester's office, and her eyes widen. 

Stephen leans in and whispers into her ear.

Jess' giggles follow him all the way down the corridor and around a couple of corners until he finds the holding cells (roomier than the ones he remembers). One of the doors is guarded, and the soldier on duty gives him a sidelong look, but opens the door anyway.

“Who are you?”

Emily Merchant's voice is cool and crisp and it matches her demeanour. Firm, almost poised to attack if needed.

“Stephen Hart.” 

“You work here.”

“Yes.”

She nods but doesn't take her eyes off Stephen. Her gaze flickers a couple of times, taking Stephen in and sizing him up. “What do you want?” she asks eventually.

It's a very good question – what does he want? “I read your file,” Stephen says carefully. “From the debrief.”

“And Matt told me about you.”

Back to stalemate. “Maybe I just wanted to meet you,” Stephen replies as glibly as he remembers how. “As someone else who's spent significant time living on the other side of the anomalies.”

“The gateways.”

Stephen nods. “You weren't alone though,” he continues, and watches Emily's posture tense as she realises where this is going.

“Ethan,” she says.

Stephen nods again. “Why travel with someone that dangerous?” he asks, even as half-formed images of Helen flash through his mind. 

“Is that a question or an accusation?” Emily counters.

In another place or time Stephen would be smiling by now. Despite himself, he thinks he likes Emily already. He shrugs his shoulders. “I'm curious,” he admits, and is surprised when he realises it's true.

Emily doesn't look convinced, but she says: “We found him, near death from savage injuries, in a barren wasteland. Charlotte nursed him back to health and – she was a calming influence on him.”

“How dangerous is he?”

Emily shakes her head. “It depends on what he wants.”

Stephen stares at her. “What does he want?”

The hesitation is brief, but noticeable. “I don't know. I thought he wanted revenge on me – he blamed me for Charlotte's death -” and that's something Stephen is all too familiar with, “- but -”

“He didn't kill you, even though he could have.”

Emily closes her eyes briefly and nods. Stephen watches her face carefully and tries to make sense of both the official report and what he's learned from interacting directly with Emily. He thinks it's possible Emily knows more than she's told anyone so far – he wouldn't be surprised if she did. It's no more than he's done before.

“What do you want?” Emily asks again, interrupting Stephen's thoughts.

He looks at her again, and chooses his words carefully. There's more to this – Emily, the merry band of travellers she's willing to leave behind to find Ethan. Two people who – like Stephen – shouldn't exist in this time and place but do. There's even a thought that he should find out how Emily's group's survival in the past would affect the anomaly model still being reconstructed in a lab two floors down.

Eventually, though, he says: “The same as you – answers.”


	2. Chapter 2

Burton appears a little after lunchtime. Lester hides his annoyance at the unannounced arrival with practised ease and waits for the opening gambit.

“I understand we have a visitor.” Burton stands, as usual. Lester's long given up trying to psychoanalyse the man's behaviour, but he has to wonder at the continual redundant statements.

“A minor inconvenience,” he replies with a dismissive hand wave, not even bothering to clarify who they're referring to this time. “One I'm assured is being dealt with.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.” Burton's smile has a faint predatory edge. “And how is Doctor Hart getting along with his project to map the anomalies?”

Lester barely has time to be surprised at the almost non-sequitur. “Rebuilding the model,” he corrects Burton, feigning focus on paperwork and continuing to ignore the glimpses of Jessica, who's been continually glancing at his office and giggling for the last few hours. “Mapping the anomalies was Cutter's folly.”

There's movement out of the corner of his eye, but Lester doesn't register until he feels the faint pressure of a hand on his shoulder.

“An interesting choice of words, James,” Burton murmurs, squeezing his shoulder slightly. “As always.”

o o o o o

Stephen doesn't sleep that night. He hasn't slept any of the nights since he got back to the present; the infrequent naps he's taken in the lab at the ARC are enough for now, and London at night is still too loud.

He ignores Hilary's snores as best he can, and focuses on the cracks in the paintwork on the ceiling. And he thinks.

One of Emily Merchant's co-travellers was a teenager born in 2136; his 'antique' FM radio had helped the group track anomalies.

_Matt holds up the device Stephen had used to open and close the anomalies. “How does this work?”_

_Stephen shrugs. It had been enough that even through decades' worth of dust the thing had worked at all._

A police siren warbles down the street; Stephen's off the bed and halfway across the room before he catches himself. He gingerly sits at the foot of the bed (Hilary can sleep through anything bar gunshots and mobile ringtones) and waits for his pulse to slow.

_Connor stares at the light cluster Helen had just pulled out of the artefact. “It's a map,” he breathes. “Cutter was right.”_

_In the shadows cast by the moving map, Helen's face curls into a parody of a proud grin. “Nick's best student.”_

It had taken him almost two months to get so much as a flicker out of the derelict console, and then he'd had to keep his distance for three weeks after a pair of bat-creatures had associated his heat signature with the unnatural noises coming from that building.

_”Every anomaly that ever was or will be.”_

Had Connor said that, or Sarah?

Every anomaly that ever was.

Stephen's missing something, but that's all he can figure out. He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly exhausted, and crawls slowly up the bed covers so he's lying level with Hilary.

He closes his eyes. Eventually he falls asleep.

o o o o o

A little after four in the morning, Becker's phone goes off. It wakes him up and nearly sends Stephen through the ceiling.

“Whatever it is, be quick,” he says tersely. _And be important_ , he thinks, watching Stephen get his breathing down.

_“Anomaly alert,”_ Jess answers quietly. _“Stately home a couple of hours outside London. A military team's en route to you from the ARC with weapons and equipment.”_

“Copy that.” Becker hangs up. He looks over at Stephen. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes.” Stephen isn't the least bit convincing. “Go.”

Becker hesitates, then nods. He dresses quickly and grabs a jacket from the hallway before letting himself out. His team reaches the building a few minutes later, and Emerson moves over to let Becker ride shotgun, then hands him a black box and earpiece.

“Anderson's on his way, and so are Temple and Maitland,” she tells him. “They'll meet us there.”

Becker nods his acknowledgement, and makes a silent wish for caffeine. The rest of the journey takes place in silence.

o o o o o

Stephen doesn't bother going back to bed. He digs through the chest of drawers beside the bed and finds a pair of pyjama bottoms that have seen better days and pulls them on before going to put the kettle on.

He curls up on the sofa with a steaming mug of tea and a notebook. It's one of the ones he'd taken through the racetrack anomaly, filled with observations of the hominids and a few, hastily written pages detailing his attempts to prevent Helen's body from contaminating the fossil record.

He rereads the section on the hominids, the memories flowing easily and almost pleasantly. The early pages had been sparse, simply noting the number of days and the continued absence of the anomaly that Helen had opened, but eventually the scientist in him had won out and begun making detailed reports of life in a place and time that had fascinated Stephen when he was a child.

On day 58 he'd written: _Still no damn anomaly. Obv. manipulated by Helen's device. Could open naturally tomorrow or in 1000 yrs._

Stephen frowns. He dimly remembers the thought process that had led to that conclusion, that Helen's device could only manipulate existing anomalies, not open new ones, which was why she – and Stephen months and millions of years later – had had to find predetermined longitude and latitude co-ordinates.

Co-ordinates that had come from the map in the future ARC that matched the map Sarah and Connor had extracted from the artefact which in turn matched the model that Nick had begun and Stephen was now rebuilding.

Stephen closes his eyes tightly. More than ever he wishes Nick – any version of him – was alive and here so he could fill in the gaps in Stephen's thought processes. The way they'd been able to do for each other for years before the anomaly project, before Stephen's own stupid mistakes and pride had broken them and 

_Nick backs away from the closed door. A flicker of reptilian tail appears behind him._

_“Open the door!” Stephen yells, pounding the glass porthole._

_Nick shakes his head. His eyes are sad even as he steps further back into the room – into the building feeding frenzy. “No. Not this time.”_

_“Nick!”_

Stephen realises he's shaking and his cheeks are hot and wet. He breathes long and loud, trying to control his heart rate. Eventually it slows.

He's struck with the urge to bury himself underneath the quilt on Hilary's side of the bed, and even indulges the thought for a few seconds. Then he gets up and finds some day clothes to change into before locking up and leaving the flat, the tea untouched and growing cold by the sofa.

The ARC is quiet at this time of morning, with only a handful of personnel on duty – including Jess Parker. Her eyebrows climb when she sees him.

“You... didn't go with the anomaly team,” she says slowly.

Stephen shakes his head. “Not this time,” he says when it becomes clear Jess meant this as some kind of conversation opener.

“You didn't miss much,” she continues, much more quickly this time. “So far, anyway.”

“No panicked SOS calls come through then?” Stephen's attempt at levity falls spectacularly flat; Jess pulls a face and backs away slightly while he holds up a hand in supplication. 

Danny had got away with glib one liners, but Danny wasn't here any more.

“So what has been happening?” Stephen asks.

“With the call out?” Jess considers this for a moment. “The team arrived on site maybe twenty minutes ago; the anomaly's been secured and they're currently checking for any creature incursions.”

“That's good.”

Jess beams. “I can keep you posted if you'd like – if you're... worried, at all.”

Stephen tries not to stare. “Yes,” he says. “To keeping me posted, I mean.”

“Wait there.” Jess bounds over to her terminals and grabs a black box and earpiece, which she tosses to Stephen. “There you go!”

“Thanks.” Stephen nods awkwardly and heads down to his lab. The model seems just as he left it yesterday, but ingrained paranoia makes him inspect the attached post-its and accompanying photographs and report excerpts just to be sure. He quickly confirms that nothing has been moved – that he can tell. He places the black box and earpiece on the table, which is now beside the door, and steps back to the model.

Stephen fingers the anomaly he'd reached yesterday, one that had been encountered by the ARC teams in both his original and this time line. It connected a present day alleyway in Ealing to an uninhabited tundra thought to date to around seven thousand years ago. The tundra landscape had its own connection to a Carboniferous rainforest that was likely the origin of the oversized insects that had made their way to the London Underground shortly after the anomaly project had been formed, though Connor's dating on that had been more guesswork than fact.

Stephen flips through the stack of papers beside the model until he finds the sketches he'd made of the map Helen had activated in the future ARC. The angles and proportions are likely off, but there are similarities between this section of the physical model and the map he'd recreated from memory.

The sketch depicts another line intersecting both the Neolithic and Carboniferous anomalies. Stephen lightly traces the pencilled line with a finger and tries to recall the map in his head.

There was a light cluster near those two anomalies, making it difficult to see where the lines travelled. Stephen follows the line on the physical model – and stops when he hits a post-it note.

The handwriting is Cutter's, but hardly difficult to read.

_Permian – Captain Ryan's remains discovered._

o o o o o

In the basement of the stately home, Becker and Connor seal the anomaly with practised ease. Becker steps back from the computers and checks his watch. 6:47.

“Come on,” he tells Emerson. “Sweep for creatures.”

It's Matt who nods and steps forward to divide the soldiers and civilians into four teams, with a corporal staying behind to guard the anomaly. Becker finds himself paired with Matt; despite Emerson's brief glance his way he doesn't argue the assignments.

Everyone disperses and Becker touches his earpiece. “Jess, do you know if this place is in use today?”

_“Yes – I do and it is,”_ Jess replies instantly. _“The information's just come through from the management company. There's a wedding scheduled for this afternoon. I love weddings,”_ she adds wistfully.

Matt raises his eyebrows but doesn't say anything.

“Emerson, find someone on site in charge,” Becker directs over the radio. Then to Jess: “What else have you got? We're going to need names -”

_“- for a possible evacuation, yes.”_ Jess sounds amused now. _“One moment please, I – oh.”_

“What is it?” Matt asks.

_“Oh, that's got to be a coincidence.”_

“Jess,” Becker says through his teeth.

_“According to the booking, the groom's name is Danny Quinn.”_


	3. Chapter 3

_“Danny?”_ Connor says excitedly. _“Our Danny?”_

 _“It... looks like it,”_ Jess replies. There's a brief pause. _“Detective Constable Danny Quinn, recently reinstated into the London Metropolitan Police following... a sabbatical. The booking's primarily in his name.”_

“If it's the same person that should make our jobs a lot easier,” Matt says. There are murmurs of assent over the radio.

Becker is inclined to agree with them, but something in his expression has to have given him away because Matt eyeballs him. “Was there anything from his last mission that didn't make it into the official reports?” he asks pointedly.

Becker hesitates.

_An arm grabbed Becker's shoulder and spun him around. Danny, blood-streaked and breathing heavily, didn't loosen his grip. “We can't do anything for her. Now come on!”_

_'Her' was Sarah – what was left of her. The decades old landmine had propelled her face first into a nest of over sized and ill-proportioned maggots; they'd made short work of the flesh that hadn't been burned._

_“Becker!” Danny shouted. “We have to leave. Now!”_

“Becker?” Matt asks, stepping closer.

“I -” Becker closes his eyes and tries not to vomit. “No. Nothing was omitted from the reports. Not a damn thing.”

He pushes past Matt and heads for the staircase up to the ground floor, not bothering to check if he's being followed. “We need to make sure there was no creature incursion.”

o o o o o

An alarm sounds, reverberating around Stephen's lab. He instinctively drops to a crouch, papers scattering around him, and covers his head before he remembers where he is. He takes several deep breaths, then grabs the black box and earpiece from the table and runs to the control room.

At the far end, Jess is focused on the computers and a military team is partially geared up.

Stephen jogs the last few yards to reach Jess' chair. “Anomaly alert?”

“I -” Jess blinks at him a couple of times. “Yes. Are you -”

Stephen look at the military team. He recognises two of them from the old ARC, and one of them – Sergeant... Obaid, he thinks dimly – nods once at him.

“Yes,” Stephen says. _Anything for the cause._

He'd told Jenny that, the day after they'd met. The memory is surprisingly clear in his mind.

Obaid steps forward. “You're not weapons certified, sir,” he says, motioning to the EMDs he and his team are carrying.

Stephen shakes his head. “Not a problem.”

Obaid nods. “Co-ordinates?”

Jess' hands fly over two keyboards. “Ealing. Sending GPS to -”

“An alleyway,” Stephen says. “Between an empty shop front and a private car park.”

“I... yes.” Jess turns to look at him. “How did you know that?”

“It's a recurring anomaly; leads to an uninhabited tundra.” Stephen shrugs. “It's on Cutter's map.”

Obaid considers this. “Let's move out. See if you're right. Car park's this way.”

Stephen nods, and starts to follow them.

“Wait.”

It's Emily. Everyone turns around.

She looks almost inconspicuous in boots, borrowed jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt. She's also unfazed at being the centre of attention, stepping forward into the middle of the room. “I want to come.”

Obaid shakes his head. “Sorry, ma'am, I can't -”

“I want to help,” Emily insists. “I can help.”

Stephen glances at Lester's office. It's empty; he must have appointments elsewhere this morning.

“She's right,” Stephen tells the sergeant. “She has more practical experience with the anomalies than most people here. Besides, how are you going to know if you can trust her if you don't give her a chance?”

That had been Connor's argument, according to Hilary, for making Stephen team leader after Jenny had turned it down.

Obaid's face is impassive. “I'm going to clear this with the boss.”

“We need to move out,” Stephen counters. To Emily: “Come on.”

She looks between Stephen and the military team a few times, then walks over to join them. “Thank you,” she says, low and serious.

Stephen shakes his head slightly. They're not clear yet.

“You're still here,” Jess points out, gesturing to the ADD behind her with a bar of chocolate. She breaks a piece off and eats it, not taking her eyes off the scene in front of her.

Obaid sighs. “Come on.”

o o o o o

Connor and Abby take the north wing of the house, checking each room as they go. The fourth door opens to reveal an ornate four-poster bed and a folding screen with a fancy looking tuxedo hung on the centre panel. Connor lets out a low whistle.

“We should get married in a place like this.”

Abby side eyes him.

“What?” Connor asks. “This place is awesome. Looks pretty, if you like that sort of thing, high ceilings – imagine the re-enactments you could do in the -”

“Conn, try asking first,” Abby tells him, but there's a tiny smile in her eyes, so Connor hasn't completely screwed that one up.

He grins. “Whoever Danny's marrying is one lucky lady, that's all I'm -”

Something behind him thumps. He turns around, raising his gun, and Abby steps up beside him. Connor steps into the room, suddenly doubting he'd heard anything at all when -

Thump.

Connor glances at Abby; she nods. She heard it too. It's real.

Connor's relieved in a way, but nervous now. He checks his radio is working. “Guys. Might have something in the north wing -”

“Ground floor, second door on the right past the spiral staircase,” Abby adds, nodding reassuringly at Connor.

 _“On our way,”_ someone responds.

Thump.

There it is again. Connor takes another step forward, which brings another door into view from behind the folding screen. He glances to Abby, who crosses the room and together they sneak up on the door. Whatever's behind it thumps a few more times.

Connor reaches for the door handle, but looks to Abby first. She nods, and he slowly grasps the handle, turns it, and opens the door. 

Abby aims her gun, then stops. “Hey – are you okay?”

Frowning, Connor peeks around the door frame. There's a small cupboard on the other side of the door, filled with laundry type things – and a half naked man tied up and gagged on the floor. His feet are bound in front of him – must have been kicking the door, Connor thinks slowly.

Abby kneels down and takes the gag out of the man's mouth. “Are you okay?” she asks again.

The man swallows a few times and pulls a face. “Think so.”

“What happened to you?” Connor asks. He gets two identical glares and winces. “Sorry, genuine question though.”

The man shakes his head. “Don't know. I got here early to sort out flowers for the reception, came in here to hang the tux up and – that's it, nothing. My clothes are missing.”

Connor wants to ask if he saw any animals about, then realises a creature wouldn't be able to tie a man up and stuff him in a cupboard.

“Well, we'll get you out of here.” Abby reaches for where she'd kept her knife for months before realising she doesn't carry one any more.

“Here you go, ma'am.” An arm snakes past Connor and hands Abby a Swiss Army knife, which she uses to cut through the man's bonds.

“Thanks,” Connor tells the soldier on Abby's behalf. “Definitely not a creature.”

The soldier – Emerson, maybe? – shakes her head. “Everywhere else seems to be clear. Boss wants everyone back to the... rendezvous point,” she says quickly when she realises the man is watching and listening intently.

“Hey,” the man says. “Someone attacked me and took my clothes, okay? I mean, what else could it be?”

Connor tries to think of something to say; Abby is similarly silent.

“Nothing that's under our purview, sir,” the soldier replies quickly. “We have an on-site medic to check for any injuries.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The man rubs the back of his head, then looks down at himself. He's wearing a white cotton vest and patterned boxers and nothing else. “Guess it's the monkey suit going on after all.”

Abby smirks at that.

“What's your name?” Connor asks. “Just in case we... need it, for... something?”

The man nods. “Colin Wrathall. Bride's side, for whatever that's worth.”

He might not know the groom, then, Connor thinks a little dejectedly.

“Come on, Mr Wrathall,” the soldier motions to lead him out of the room. “Medic'll check you out.”

They leave, and Connor and Abby turn to look at each other. “That was weird,” Connor says.

Abby nods. “Jess, can you check for CCTV on the grounds or in the house? We've got a possible human intruder -”

 _“In the vicinity of an anomaly site,”_ Jess finishes. _“I'll let you know if I find something.”_

o o o o o

The Ealing anomaly is right where Stephen remembers – from both timelines. The alley is narrow and cramped, with two industrial bins wedged in at the far end. The anomaly is on the far side of the second bin, the light from its top edge just visible over the lid.

Stephen lets Obaid and his team move past him to begin assembling the locking device. He hears another set of boots – Emily's – come up behind him.

“Hard to track anything with this much... around,” she says, scuffing the pavement with the toe of a boot.

Stephen is inclined to agree. He remembers reading that Emily's group had avoided modern eras. He wonders if he should say something when -

“Dr Hart, there's someone here!”

Stephen runs down the alley, Emily close behind him. Obaid's team are circled around the gap between the bins; Stephen pushes through them.

There's a woman on the ground, curled up in a foetal position, her face obscured. Light brown hair, cut short and matted, like it's wet. Her clothes look soaked through. Stephen glances up at the sky; it's a cloudless sky, and there was no rain the previous night.

“Could be homeless, hungover maybe,” someone behind him mutters. Stephen ignores it. He finds one of the woman's wrists and feels for a pulse. It's faint – and there's dried blood on her forearm. Further up the arm is a bite wound, the edges already healing over. Stephen traces the bottom edge of it – and realises he's seen that indentation pattern before.

“A velociraptor did this.”

“Are you sure?” Obaid asks.

“Yes.”

Emily leans in over Stephen's shoulder. “Is she alive?”

“For now,” Stephen says. He's about to stand up and ask Obaid to make sure there's a doctor on standby at the ARC when the woman grabs his wrist, lightning fast, and holds a bloodstained knife to his throat, the tip of the blade just touching his skin.

Stephen freezes. He glances to Emily, who moves back. He hears Obaid and his people do the same.

The woman looks up. Her eyes are dark and her face is impassive – but even so, Stephen would recognise her anywhere.

“Claudia.”


End file.
